The little group of passengers walked slowly back and disappeared into the train. Allan, looking after them, caught his first glimpse of one side of railroad policy—a policy which minimizes every danger, which does its utmost to keep every peril from the knowledge of its patrons—a wise policy, since nervousness will never add to safety. Away up the track he saw the brakeman, who had been sent back as soon as the train stopped, to prevent the possibility of a rear-end collision, and he understood dimly something of the wonderful system which guards the safety of the trains. Then, suddenly, he realized that he was not working, that his place was with that little group labouring to repair the track, and he sprang to his feet, but at that instant Jack stood back with a sigh of relief and turned to the conductor. “All right,” he said. The conductor raised his hand, a sharp whistle recalled the brakeman, who came down the track on a run; the engineer opened his throttle; there was a long hiss of escaping steam, and the train started slowly. As it passed him, Allan could see the passengers settling back contentedly in their seats, the episode already forgotten. In a moment the train was gone, growing rapidly smaller away down the track ahead of them. A few extra spikes were driven in to further strengthen the place, and the hand-car was run out on the track again. “Y’ made pretty good time,” said Jack to the boy; and then, as he saw his white face, he added, “Kind o’ winded y’, didn’t it?” Allan nodded, and climbed silently to his place on the car. “Shook y’r nerve a little, too, I reckon,” added Jack, as the car started slowly. “But y’ mustn’t mind a little thing like that, m’ boy. It’s all in th’ day’s work.” All in the day’s work! The flagging of a train was an ordinary incident in the lives of these men. There had, perhaps, been no great danger, yet the boy caught his breath as he recalled that fearful moment when the train rushed down upon him. All in the day’s work—for which the road paid a dollar and a quarter! CHAPTER III. AN ADVENTURE AND A STORY Jack Welsh, section-foreman, lived in a little frame house perched high on an embankment just back of the railroad yards. The bank had been left there when the yards had been levelled down, and the railroad company, always anxious to promote habits of sobriety and industry in its men, and knowing that no influence makes for such habits as does the possession of a home, had erected a row of cottages along the top of the embankment, and offered them on easy terms to its employés. They weren’t palatial—they weren’t even particularly attractive—but they were homes.